


a culmination of things

by griefhoney



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Accidental Soul Selling, Alternate Universe, Feelings Realization, M/M, Road Trips, Running Theme: Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griefhoney/pseuds/griefhoney
Summary: changmin accidentally sells his soul while on holiday in italy. things just sort of go downhill from then onwards.





	1. one (1)

There are lots of things Changmin wanted to do during his holiday in Italy. 

Sightseeing, visiting local restaurants and getting absolutely smashed were all very high on that list. 

Something that didn't make it onto that list, something that didn't even make it into his  _head_ was accidentally selling his soul to a demonic entity disguised as an elderly Italian man in exchange for a glass of water.  

It's not something many people would consider happening and in hindsight, Changmin regrets leaving his _Korean to Italian_ dictionary in his hotel room that day. 

 

*

 

Six months, six weeks and six days after Changmin returned from the sunny, cobblestone streets of Italy and he's sitting in the back of a taxi having a minor nervous breakdown. 

It's a Monday, which warrants and allows minor nervous breakdowns and it's November which encourages them. 

The secretary he's currently on the phone with makes a sound that's almost a sob, but not quite. 

"So, you're telling me," Changmin says in a would-be-calm voice, "that the deal's off? Just like that?"

There's the sound of frantic typing and then, "N-not off, sir. They just said they'd like to take some time to go through all the paperwork." She clears her throat. "Again." 

" _Again_ ," Changmin echoes and doesn't even flinch when the side of his head collides with the window as the car makes a sharp left turn. 

"It's a lot of paperwork." 

"Yeah" – he runs a hand through his hair – "yeah, I'm aware. I wrote most of it." 

"I'm sorry, sir." 

"It's fine. Not your fault." He sighs. "Did they give a timeframe?" 

More typing.

"Four months at least," she says, voice small. 

"God fucking – okay. _Okay_. This is fine." 

"Sir?"

"Tell them they have two months or I'll make renegotiations impossible."

There's a choked off gasping sound on the other end of the line and Changmin waits until his secretary has regained her composure. 

"Two months, sir? Are you sure?" 

The seatbelt digs wrinkles into Changmin's suit as the taxi makes another impossible turn and speeds through a yellow light. "Positive. Write the most passive-aggressive email you've ever written. Make those old hacks at Seo  _cry_ for our mercy." 

A pause. 

"Uhm. I can – I can try?"  

"I can proofread it for you if you want." 

There's another, longer pause and Changmin briefly wonders if he accidentally killed his secretary when she reappears on the line sounding breathless. "I don't want to mess up your schedule, sir." 

"The only people messing up my schedule are Seo & Sons, don't worry." 

 

The day passes in a flurry of meetings, bad coffee and enough phone calls to make Changmin's wrist seize up. 

"Made anyone cry today?" Kyuhyun says when they cross paths in a hall. He has three terrified interns in tow and Changmin has a storm cloud the size of a small country hanging over his head.

"Not yet," Changmin replies through gritted teeth and keeps marching towards a meeting room looming at the end of the hall. 

"Have fun!" 

 

He escapes work, but only barely. 

The secretary leaves an hour before he does, stumbling towards the elevator laden down with files and looking close to tears. That does, however, seem to be her go-to expression so Changmin tries to be optimistic and doesn't read too much into it. 

When he leaves the office is almost completely deserted except for a few hard-done-by PAs and a handful of caretakers. 

Outside the streets are still relatively busy with late-night commuters, buses, and taxis. The sky glows orange with light pollution.  

He hails a taxi and sinks into the threadbare back seat with a half-relieved, half-defeated sigh. Not seconds after he's given the driver his address they're off with a surge of speed that knocks Changmin back and makes his bag slip off his lap and into the dingy depths of the car.  

The drive is uneventful.

Changmin sways sleepily with the turns the car makes and only wakes out of his doze when they stop at a crossing. 

Peering around the driver's seat he watches as people flood across the street, tourists and locals alike, their faces partially obscured by the fog they're breathing out. 

The light changes and the car lurches forward and around another corner. 

Lights of the cars around them flicker and shine and Changmin stares blankly at the road ahead, gaze slipping in and out of focus until – 

"Hey, watch out!" 

There's someone standing on the road ahead. 

The driver blinks at him through the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry,  _what_?" 

Changmin points. "Watch out! There – someone's standing on the road." 

Whoever it is they look like a cast-out member of someone edgy alternative rock group; all dressed in black with a hood obscuring their face. 

"Sir," the driver says, tone careful, "there's no one there." 

"No, no. There  _is_. I can see them, they're dressed in black and I swear to God they don't look like they're gonna move." 

"I think you're overworked. Sir, there's no one there." 

Changmin leans further out of his seat, seatbelt digging almost painfully into his throat. "I can  _see_ them," he insists, hand still outstretched. 

"Maybe it's a trick of the light. You have to be tired, working this late." 

His concern is flattering but Changmin _knows_ he's not hallucinating. He got four hours of sleep last night and there's still enough caffeine in his bloodstream to validate what he's seeing. 

The driver puts on a fresh spurt of speed and Changmin watches, horrified, as the dark figure looms closer. 

"You need to swerve!"

"I'm not swerving around something that isn't there." 

It's when they're only a couple of feet away from hitting whatever is standing on the road that Changmin experiences a wave of fear, so intense it knocks him back into his seat. 

A breeze outside shifts the person's – the thing's – hood back just enough to reveal the wizened, but kindly face of an elderly Italian man. 

Changmin briefly thinks about screaming when the old man's jaw unhinges to reveal rows upon rows of sharp, jagged teeth that glint in the headlights of the taxi before exploding with an inhuman shriek.

The sound echoes through Changmin's head and lodges itself under his ribs, crawling through his blood like a virus. 

 

*

 

"You don't live here," Yunho says, standing in the middle of his living room in nothing more than a threadbare T-Shirt and shorts. 

It's 4 o'clock in the morning and Changmin hasn't slept in 24 hours. He's running on a mixture of fear, coffee and very human, very desperate determination. 

"I have a key."

Yunho stares at him for a full minute or so. "The door is passcoded." 

"Well" – Changmin makes a vague, fluttery hand motion – "you should hide it better." 

A pause and Changmin moves a tottering pile of to-be-marked tests off an armchair and sort of…collapses into it. 

"Are you okay?" Yunho asks, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "You look kind of – sick." 

"Remember when I went to Italy for a week?" 

"Yeah, that was like back in May, right? Six months ago." 

Grinning a rather delirious grin Changmin says, "Oh, I didn't think you'd remember _that_ well, hyung." 

"You wouldn't shut up about it," Yunho replies, defensive. 

He might be blushing, but that also might be a trick of the light. As if to prove a point Changmin's eyesight blurs horribly and he closes his eyes, bravely fighting off a wave of nausea with a tenacity he hasn't had since university. 

"So. Italy," he starts, having regained some fraction of composure. 

Yunho just stares, hair an untidy halo around his head. He seems to be glowing softly but, again, it's probably a trick of the light. Or sleep-deprivation. Changmin honestly can't tell at this point. 

"Turns out that I accidentally sold my soul while I was there. So, yeah. That's fun. And now there's a demon after me, which is you know" – he wiggles his fingers – "more fun."

A pause that leaves the same kind of impression as stale, bitter bread spreads out between them as Yunho continues to stare, jaw slack with what Changmin is assuming is shock and disbelief. 

" _How_ – how do you _accidentally_ sell your soul?" 

Changmin stretches and they both flinch when his spine cracks loudly. "Well, first of all, you need to be in a foreign country with minimal knowledge of the language and then you have to forget your dictionary at the hotel." 

"Oh my God." 

"Yeah…" Changmin grins. "And now there's a demon after my soul." 

"Are you" – Yunho makes an aborted hand gesture – "gonna be okay?" 

"Well. I'm going on the run." 

Yunho opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before finally settling on a quiet little, "Oh." 

It sits between them for a while, draining the oxygen out of the air.  

Changmin leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. "You're coming with me. Hyung." 

Whatever tension had been trapped in Yunho's shoulders spills out onto the linoleum floor as if Changmin's words had broken some kind of dam and he nods like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Alright." 

 

The parking garage of Yunho's apartment building is deserted. Fluorescent lights flicker in a vague attempt to ward off the early morning darkness and the air is heavy with the scent of coming snow. 

Yunho watches silently as Changmin heaves his suitcase into the boot of the car. 

"You knew I'd say yes, didn't you?" 

Changmin shuts the boot with a slam that rings through silence, oddly eternal. 

"Hoped, more than anything." 

Smiling, Yunho tugs his scarf higher over his chin and mouth before saying, "You _knew_ though. Didn't you?" 

" _Hoped_ ," Changmin insists, even though, deep down he'd known. 

Different paths in life had just about managed to separate them by a couple of blocks, but anything more than that seemed quite impossible. 

"I'm driving," Yunho says, already sidling into the narrow gap between Changmin's SUV and the neighboring car. 

Changmin opens his mouth to argue since it's his car and his mess they're in but his vision swims out of focus and he decides against it. The lights above flicker in agreement and, trailing a steadying hand along the car, Changmin shuffles around to the passenger side. 

He pauses, halfway into the car and Yunho who's already seated glances up at him.

"What?" 

"Hyung, can't I drive? You drive like you're possessed." 

Yunho almost drops the car keys and huffs, indignant. "And you haven't slept in what – a day? I'm not letting you drive." 

"Managed to drive here just fine," Changmin mutters under his breath, more petulant teenager than successful COO of a market-domineering company. 

"And then" – Yunho jams the keys into the ignition – "you almost passed out in my living room."

Out of the corner of his eye, Changmin catches him glancing over. The scarf has slipped back down past his mouth and his hair still damp and curling slightly from the shower Changmin had forced him into taking. 

"How am I supposed to spot demons when I'm asleep?" Changmin asks, focusing his gaze back on the concrete pillar directly in front of them, which is a lot safer than having to watch Yunho's features soften into a smile. 

"Look – how about you sleep until we get out of Seoul? That's at least...an hour of sleep. Maybe more if the traffic's bad." 

"If we die because I was asleep –" Changmin threatens, fumbling with his seatbelt. 

There's a reluctant smile in Yunho's voice as he says, "Let's think about dying when we're out of Seoul." 

 

Rest stop food tastes like soggy cardboard. 

They're sitting in Changmin's car, heating on and with as much food as they had been able to carry piled in their laps and the backseat. Snow is drifting through the early hours of dawn, filling the windscreen and cracks in the pavement. 

"How'd you even find out there's a demon after you?" Yunho says, picking at the wrapper of a gooey chocolate-toffee bar. 

"Saw it, didn't I." 

"A demon?" 

Plucking the wrapper out of Yunho's hands Changmin says, "Yeah, I was on my way home and it just sort of – appeared." He grins. "The taxi driver thought I was hallucinating." 

Yunho hums. There's a smudge of chocolate on his bottom lip and Changmin looks away. 

"And then when I got home" – he starts flattening the wrapper out with the palms of his hands – "there was ' _it's time'_ written out on the floor with blood." 

A pause as Yunho finishes chewing. "How'd you know it was blood and not just red paint or something?" 

"Would you use red paint to write threatening messages on people's living room floors if you were a demon? And anyway, it reeked of guts and sulfur so I'm pretty sure it was actual blood." 

"And now we're here," Yunho says, watching as Changmin folds the now ironed chocolate bar wrapper into a tiny little square only to toss it onto the growing pile of other wrappers on the dashboard. 

"Yeah." 

Watery golden light is starting to creep into the sky, both muted and amplified by the slowly strengthening gusts of snow. Around them, the parked cars and stretches of exposed pavement disappear under a thin blanket of white. The snowflakes are big; the kind of snow that's good for snowball fights. 

Changmin's fingers itch with the urge to go out there and shove a handful of snow down the back of Yunho's jacket. 

"We should probably fill the tank before we get going again," Yunho says, obviously having been thinking of more useful things than snowball fights. 

Neither of them really know where it is they're going. Out of Seoul was as far as Changmin's instructions had gone and Yunho didn't ask for anything more. 

"Can we go by Suwon?" 

"Suwon?" 

A lorry edges through the lane in front of them and Changmin waits for it to pass before speaking. "There's a convenience store there that sells protection sigils." 

Yunho, who'd been rustling around in the back seat, pulls himself back into his seat to stare at Changmin. "That's," he starts, "very specific." 

"I mean, it's a normal convenience store – they just happen to also sell stuff like that." 

"Where'd you even find out about stuff like this," Yunho mutters and then blanches at the growing expression of glee on Changmin's face. "Wait, never mi–"

"Do you really want to know, hyung?" 

 

They drive and drive and drive.

Through small, barely-there towns, past snowed-in rest stops and dozing lorry drivers and down B-roads that twist and wind their way through the countryside. Colours blur into streaks of white and various, but equally as miserable, shades of brown and grey.

Changmin sleeps through most of it, waking only when Yunho makes an especially horrendous turn or almost runs down a stray pedestrian or lamppost. 

 

*

 

"Do you think the receptionist is a demon?" Yunho asks from where he's sitting on the floor in the narrow gap between their two twin beds. 

It's late. Not _that_ late, but the light-eating blizzard outside makes it feel like midnight.

The muted yellow light of an ugly lamp sitting in a far corner of the tiny room makes Changmin think of boiled sweets and the inevitability of death. In fact, the whole motel reeks of it. Death and boiled sweets, it clings to the carpet and the old, sagging wallpaper. 

"I think she's just old, hyung." 

They have a protection sigil each, crudely taped above their beds and there a thick lines of salt in front of the door and on the windowsills. The smell doesn't mix well with the general pong of the motel but it will have to do. 

Yunho hums and clambers up onto his bed, legs bare except for a pair of shorts, the collar of his sleep-shirt dips low past his collarbones. Changmin looks away and counts the mysterious stains on the ceiling. 

 

*

 

The town where they're staying is small and deserted, frozen in time as snow piles up on the hoods of cars and icicles bare their teeth from rain gutters. Snowflakes drift through the silence and a breeze makes sure to hide their footsteps. 

Paranoia creeps along beside Changmin like a second shadow, magnifying every creak and rustle, every imaginary twitch of a curtain until fear buzzes at the base of his skull, constant and mind-numbing. 

Yunho marches ahead, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. There are snowflakes caught in his hair, glimmering faintly in the dim wintry light and Changmin tries to focus on that instead of the protection sigil currently burning a hole through the palm of his hand. 

They reach the end of a street and a seemingly endless stretch of white spreads out in front of them. 

"Treat it like a holiday," Yunho says and dumps a pile of snow on Changmin's head. 

 

*

 

"If I hear  _Forever Love_ one more time – I swear to God." 

The wind outside howls with laughter, battering the windshield and windows with dizzying swirls of white.

Changmin twirls the CD around an index finger, a silent threat. "Then let me drive, hyung." 

"But –" 

"Let me," Changmin repeats and Yunho's grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

After the first opening piano notes, he pulls the car over. 

"Hyung, you should sleep," Changmin says once they've settled into their respective seats. 

Yunho shakes his head. "I'm not tired." 

A couple of minutes after Changmin's edged them back onto the road he turns the heating on and watches, with one eye on the road, as the muffled roar lulls Yunho to sleep. 

 

*

 

They're sitting in an off-road diner that Changmin had found by chance while trying to find the right motorway to lead them further south. 

The aesthetic of the place is stuck between a 1950's American diner and wallpaper that was last fashionable in 1979. Everything smells like vegetable oil and artificial sweeteners, it clogs up the air and fills Changmin with the urge to wash his hands. 

Yunho, however, looks comfortable enough, softly humming along to the music drifting down from the concealed overhead speakers. 

A wispy young waitress drifts over and hands them their menus. 

"Oh," Yunho says, squinting down at the greasy pages, "this is very American." 

Changmin looks at him for a second to see if he's joking before saying, "Yeah. Yeah, it is." 

The flute solo from  _California Dreamin'_ warbles down from the ceiling and Changmin turns his attention to the sparse smattering of customers sitting at the other tables. Most of them are truck drivers, hunched low over their food, but Changmin also spots a small family of four and a haggard woman, who's staring down at her plate of toast and eggs with a look of despair. 

"What are you having?" 

The song changes and Changmin refocuses on Yunho, who has a thumb hovering over a picture of a waffle piled high with strawberries and whipped cream. Changmin's heart drops into his stomach like a stone. 

He clears his throat. "Coffee and" – he desperately looks for something not filled to bursting with calories – "toast?" 

Yunho frowns. "That's not going to keep you going for long." 

And Changmin, who still has very vivid images of Yunho and strawberries and whipped cream in his head, nods distractedly and ducks back behind his menu. 

The waitress floats back to their table and takes their orders. 

"So, what are we going to do after this?" 

"After breakfast?" 

Yunho waves a distracted hand and says, "Or just – in general. Where do we go?" 

They still hadn't talked about this. Too busy arguing about music and who gets to drive to talk about it. 

"I thought we'd stick to driving along the coast," Changmin says, clearing things out of the way when the waitress materializes next to their table with his coffee. 

"And then what?" 

The coffee tastes like what Changmin imagines lukewarm tar would taste like. 

"Jeju maybe?" 

"What about your car?" Yunho reaches out and takes a sip from Changmin's coffee before he can warn him. 

"You can – here" – he hands Yunho a paper napkin – "you can take cars on ferries. That's like, the whole point." 

Dabbing delicately at the corner of his mouth Yunho hums, thoughtful. "And from Jeju, we could maybe – we could maybe go to China?" 

Changmin grimaces at the thought of Chinese customs officers and Yunho, who seems to have had the same thought corrects himself and says, "Hong Kong?" 

"How's your Cantonese?" 

"Right" – Yunho's shoulders slump – "good point." 

The monstrosity of waffles, strawberries and whipped cream arrives first and Yunho whole demeanour lights up immediately. 

Changmin sinks into his seat when Yunho picks up a strawberry and licks the cream off, eyes curiously flickering towards the kitchen.

If Changmin weren't already damned to go to hell he definitely would be now. 

He takes another gulp of his disgusting coffee in the vague hope that it might kill him. It doesn't and Yunho continues to nibble on another strawberry, unaware of Changmin's sanity quietly crumbling like a badly built sandcastle. 

His toast arrives with a clatter, slightly burnt and accompanied by a small bowl of marmalade and a lump of awfully yellow butter. 

Changmin's just about to speak when an abrupt, jerky movement from across the room makes him look up. 

The haggard lady who'd been eating toast and eggs is sitting in her chair, back ramrod straight and arms hanging loosely at her sides. Changmin can't see her face but when she suddenly hunches forward, the nobs of her spine protruding through the thin material of her blouse, he knows something's wrong.

"Hyung," he says quietly and when Yunho doesn't respond immediately he hooks a foot around his ankle and pulls him forward. " _Hyung_." 

Trying to extract his foot Yunho hisses, " _What_?" 

"The lady," Changmin enunciates calmly, "a few tables behind you." 

Yunho doesn't even bother turning around to look. "Demon?" 

"Well, it's certainly not fucking normal." 

They both look around, but no one else seems to have noticed the lady's strange behaviour.

Changmin still has a foot locked around Yunho's ankle. 

"We should get back to the car," Yunho whispers, slowly putting his knife and fork down. 

"Yeah" – Changmin blindly pulls a wad of cash out of his coat pocket and sticks it underneath his half-empty cup – "yeah, we should go." 

"Has she – has _it_ seen you?" There's a note of controlled panic in Yunho's voice now. 

Almost instinctively Changmin pulls him closer.

"Still have my sigil, remember? I think it just knows that I'm here in the area." 

"So – so just  _don't_ look at it right?" 

Heartbeat now audible in his ears Changmin nods. "Right." 

The playlist of the diner must be on an endless loop because the sweet notes of  _California Dreamin'_ fill the air again, taunting and surreal. 

"You go first," Changmin says. 

" _What_?" 

"What do you mean  _what_?" 

Yunho's staring at him, eyes wide and challenging. "It's after _you_ , so you should go first."

"But if it sees you with me then it'll go after you too." 

"I –" Yunho starts but Changmin cuts him off. 

"– if you pull the age card I swear –" 

"I was going to say that we run on the count of three. Together," he adds in a tone that Changmin can't decipher.

Another jerky, inhuman movement in the corner of his eye makes his heartbeat spike and he nods. "Okay."

"One," Yunho says under his breath and Changmin has to violently suppress the urge to reach across the table and grab his hand. 

"Two," Changmin says, voice hoarse. 

Yunho reaches across the table and takes his hand.

"Don't you dare look back." 

With his heart in his throat, Changmin nods, tightening his grip on Yunho's hand. 

"Three." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tis i] [twt](https://twitter.com/saddermachine)
> 
> [california dreamin' ](https://youtu.be/qhZULM69DIw)


	2. two (2)

"This" – Changmin kicks viciously at a pile of snow – "is just _typical_." 

Yunho, perched on a rock with his arms around his knees, sighs. "We got away just fine. Don't worry about it." 

"I saw" – he punctuates that with another kick – "its face in the reflection of the door." 

"A reflection isn't the same thing as looking directly at it." 

They're in a park for no reason other than that Yunho had insisted they go out and stretch their legs for a bit. Here, further inland, the sky is a clear, icy blue with no trace of the oppressing grey that had followed them for the last couple of miles. 

There's snow as far as the eye can see, gravel paths almost indistinguishable from the rest of the park. And judging by the fact that the snow lies untouched, glittering happily in the weak wintery sun they're the only people stupid enough to go out for a walk at these kinds of temperatures. 

"It still saw me," Changmin insists. "That'll make tracking us easier." 

The sigh Yunho lets out comes out in a puff of white condensation. "Well, it won't track us here. There are shrines and temples all over the place, no demon could come here even if it wanted to." 

Changmin tries to find holes to poke into that statement but finds none and lapses into a brooding silence. 

Pulling the sleeves of his coat over his knuckles Yunho slips off his perch and trudges further down the path, shoulders hunched against the cold. After a minute or two Changmin follows him. 

"You should've brought gloves," he says when he's caught up with Yunho. 

"Huh?" 

"Gloves. You should be wearing some." 

He reaches out and catches one of Yunho's hands in his own. The black wool of Changmin's gloves contrasts rather harshly with the redness of Yunho's fingertips and knuckles and the icy blue tint of his nails. 

"Idiot," he mutters, just loud enough for Yunho to yank his hand back with an offended huff. 

They wade through the snow in silence for a while. 

"Maybe," Yunho says, knocking some snow off a low-hanging branch, "there's a vendor or a store somewhere around here. We could get something warm to eat." 

Changmin actually stops to stare at him. "It's almost  _December_ , hyung. Why on earth would anyone be out here selling food?" 

Shoulders lifting and slumping in a shrug Yunho keeps on walking and Changmin has to jog to catch up with him. 

They come to a stop at a little arched wooden bridge, crossing over a frozen brook. A frost-covered piece of red rope and a barely legible plaque keeps them from going any further. The bridge creaks ominously when Changmin pokes one the bannisters with the toe of a boot and he takes a hasty step back. 

"Almost December, huh?" Yunho says, more to the endless expanse of pale blue sky above them than to Changmin. "Do you think we'll still be out here by Christmas? I've never spent Christmas away from home before." 

He looks away from the sky, cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed red with cold. 

The collective guilt of the last two weeks rises in Changmin's stomach like bile, consuming him in one great sickening wave that almost knocks him off his feet.

He takes a step forward then decides against it and moves back again. Anger, misplaced and mostly at himself, crawls out of the hidden crevices of his mind and mixes with the guilt swirling in his stomach. Blood roars in his ears. 

"You should go home," he says, voice mechanical and distant. 

Yunho's eyes widen. " _What_?" 

"You don't – you don't have to be here. You should go home." 

A chill that has nothing to do with the weather seeps into the silence between them. 

"Are you _insane_?" 

Changmin bristles and replies with an edge to his tone that's mostly unintentional. "You're not damned to hell. You don't have to be here." 

"Do you _want_ me to leave?" 

He doesn't. In fact, it's probably one of the last things Changmin wants. But he also doesn't Yunho to get into trouble, or worse killed, because of something stupid Changmin did while on holiday.

He didn't want any of this in the first place. Didn't want to drag Yunho out here in the depths of winter, away from his heated apartment and the kids at his school. 

But Changmin is selfish.  

"No," he says, "no, I don't want you to leave." 

 

*

 

The car idles in a crowded main street for a minute or two before Changmin manages to squeeze them through a gap and into a supermarket parking lot. A shivering supermarket employee is shovelling footpaths through the foot-high snow and Yunho gives him a sympathetic smile while Changmin tries not to make his job any more difficult.

Yunho's softly humming a tune Changmin doesn't recognise, skidding slightly on the cleared paths which are slippery with icy, compact snow frozen to the pavement. One of Changmin's hands lands, almost involuntarily, on the small of Yunho's back as he leads the way. 

Christmas and weekend shoppers fill the aisles and Changmin keeps his hand on Yunho's back as he edges their trolley through the masses of winter coats and screaming toddlers. 

Eyeing the refrigerated section Yunho asks, "What exactly do we need?" 

"Uhm" – Changmin looks around a little wildly – "this?" He grabs a tin of pineapple and a tin of peaches off a precarious arrangement next to them, built so high it almost brushes the low ceiling. 

Yunho plucks the tin of pineapple out of his hands and switches it for another tin of peaches. 

"What's wrong with tinned pineapple?" Changmin complains, following Yunho past the condiments. 

"I like peaches more," Yunho replies simply. 

Soon the trolley fills up with cups of strawberry yoghurt, plain low-fat Greek yoghurt, microwaveable meals, cereal and toothpaste because Yunho forgot his at some hotel they stayed at for a night and Changmin doesn't like sharing. 

But things come to an abrupt halt when Yunho finds a chocolate cake. 

"How about this?" He holds up the monstrosity of chocolate icing and buttercream.

Changmin stares at it and then at him.

" _Why_?"

Yunho shrugs. "Early birthday cake?" 

The  _"in case we don't make it back by then"_ is implied and it lies heavily in the air between them. 

"It's bad luck," Changmin says, leaning across the trolley to take the cake, "to do birthday things before the actual date." 

"I thought that was wishing someone a happy birthday before it's happened?" Yunho says, pulling the trolley further along the aisle. 

Changmin follows. "Does it matter?"

Wordlessly Yunho picks out a four-pack of cupcakes, eyebrows raised in a silent question. 

"I haven't worked out in weeks I can't eat that." 

In one quick motion, Yunho drops the cupcakes into the trolley and leans around it to yank Changmin's pullover up. His fingers, icy from the freezing temperatures outside, graze Changmin's stomach and the surprised curse that escapes him makes at least four scandalised mothers turn around to glare at him. 

" _Haven't worked out in weeks_ ," Yunho repeats in a tone that would've sounded scathing had it come from anyone else. "Then why do you still look like that?"

"Look like what?" 

"Like I could do laundry on your abs if I wanted to." 

A pause and Changmin, skin still burning from where Yunho's fingers had brushed him, bares his teeth in a grin that seems to miss its mark just a little because Yunho flushes, gaze skittering away. 

"One cupcake won't kill you," he mutters and moves on.

 

*

 

The receptionist at the hotel takes one look at them and jabs a thumb at the wall behind her where one solitary key is hanging. 

"You don't mind sharing, do you?" 

Yunho shakes his head, smile bright and obliging. 

 

"Oh," he says once they're standing on the threshold of their ratty little room, "she meant sharing a  _bed_." 

Changmin decides to bite the bullet and pushes past him, dragging his suitcase along behind him. "I'm taking the right side," he says. 

"Okay." 

Yunho's still staring at the bed, expression unreadable in the stuffy semi-darkness. 

"Or you can –" Changmin starts and turns, trying to mould his expression into something accommodating. 

Blinking Yunho shuffles further inside. "What? No,  _no_ – no, sleep wherever you want. I don't care." 

"No?" Changmin repeats, cringing when the bed creaks loudly as he sinks down onto it. 

"No, no. I love sleeping next to" – Yunho pauses, eyeing the picture nailed to the bit of protruding wall next to his side of the bed – "that." 

They stare at the picture. It's a terrifying mess of colours vaguely assembled into the shape of what Changmin hopes is supposed to be a human woman with a gaping red mouth and hair that makes him think of Greek myths and slow, painful deaths. 

"Right." 

 

The sun is just starting to set when Yunho gets up from the bed with an abrupt creak that startles Changmin out his doze.

Yunho had been lying, spread-eagled on their – on  _the_ bed for the last hour or so and the bubble of pent-up nervous energy that surrounded him ended up forcing Changmin into the farthest corner of the room in order to retain at least some of his sanity. 

"I'm gonna have a shower," he announces, swinging his legs over the side of the bed in a large, graceful and completely unnecessary arc. 

"Okay."  

He disappears into the post-stamp sized on-suite bathroom and Changmin crawls out from where he'd slotted himself between a little rickety side table and the curtains.

A cramp works its way up into his calves and he sits there on the floor in the dying light listening to the pipes groan and Yunho singing softly over the noise. 

The sun hits the horizon and the light flashes red. 

" _You're doomed_ ," the painting sing-songs.

Changmin stares. 

" _Doomed, doomed, doomed, doo_ –" the red mouth twists into an awful grin, showing teeth that hadn't originally been there. Its singing starts to drown out Yunho's enthusiastic rendition of a pop song Changmin's never heard of before and he gets up, terror and anger mingling into a confusing mixture that makes him feel slightly sick. 

" _Doomed, doomed_ –" it's voice clangs horribly, like a piano that hasn't been tuned. 

In a fit of rage that doesn't feel quite like his own Changmin wrenches the picture of the wall, frame splintering slightly in his grip. 

" _Doomed, doomed, doomed_ –" 

It doesn't even sound like a word anymore and he doesn't flinch as the face bulges out of the painting, like its trying break free of the glass and canvas. Fear takes a back seat to anger and disgust and he slams it face first down onto the floor, digging the heel of his foot into the back just for good measure. 

Glass cracks and splinters and the noise from the bathroom cuts out. 

Yunho peers around the bathroom door, dripping and golden in the light of the setting sun. "Everything alright?"

Changmin watches a stray droplet of water race along the dips and curves of Yunho's chest and stomach only to disappear below the towel clinging a little desperately to his hips. 

"Fine," he croaks. 

 _Doomed doomed doomed,_ the painting echoes through his mind. 

 

*

 

"If you don't stop _moving_ – I swear to fuck –" Changmin hisses through the darkness. 

It's late. Or maybe it's early. Either way, it's no time to be awake and yet Changmin's lying there, with his heart lodged uncomfortably in his throat and a headache throbbing at the base of his skull. 

Beside him, Yunho makes a distressed sound and pulls more of the quilt onto his side.

"I'm cold," he says, a tired petulant edge to his voice. 

" _Cold_?" 

"Yes." More of the quilt slips onto the left side of the bed. "Cold." 

Changmin who's warm to a point where he's actually kind of uncomfortable snorts derisively. 

The bedsprings creak as Yunho rolls onto his back, profile outlined by the pale moonlight slanting through the window. He looks pitiful, shoulders hunched up to his ears in an effort to ward off the cold and the knot in Changmin's throat softens, although rather reluctantly. 

"Wait a second," he says and edges closer to his side of the bed, hand swiping blindly at the floor until his fingers brush something soft and fuzzy. 

He swings it into the air in one loose, uncoordinated movement and manages to hit Yunho in the face. 

"Wha–" 

"Pullover," Changmin says shortly. 

Yunho turns his wide-eyed gaze onto him and he quickly adds, "To make you shut up." 

There's a pause while Changmin valiantly tries not to think about all the other ways he could make Yunho both shut up and warm up a little. Tries not to think about the gentle curve of his spine, visible through the thin material of his shirt or the line of his throat, bare and golden even in the half-light. Yunho sitting up and tugging at the hem of the T-Shirt he's already wearing doesn't help in the slightest. 

It makes something akin to panic rear in Changmin's chest and he grabs one of Yunho's wrists hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks on his skin.

The silence turns treacle-like, sticky and warm. More appropriate for a summer's night than a ratty little hotel room with no central heating. 

Changmin's self-control crumbles just a little bit more. 

"Over your shirt," he says hoarsely. "You're cold. Why take off layers when you're cold?" 

 

*

 

Yunho wears the pullover for the entirety of the next day, tugging the sleeves over his knuckles, which are rough and red with cold.

It's become a nervous tick of sorts and Changmin quietly grieves for the sleeves of the cashmere pullover, but it keeps Yunho warm and relatively quiet so he can't complain too much. 

After a couple of days, Changmin takes it off him in exchange for an old university hoodie he'd found at the bottom of his suitcase. 

But the cashmere pullover is no longer just _his_. It's theirs. Because it smells like the cologne, that Yunho insists on wearing even though they're on the run from a demon and  _nothing matters_. It's theirs because underneath that Changmin can still detect himself and it's strange having those two mix, leaving him complete and hollow and guilty. 

It ends up in Yunho's suitcase again. By accident, of course. 

He wears it more than he wears anything else, dragging the sleeves over the  _Ryan_ and  _Winnie the Pooh_ plasters that decorate his knuckles and the possessive warmth that has lived underneath Changmin's heart since he was 15 stretches lazily like a content cat who's found a patch of sunshine. 

 

*

 

The weak early morning sun paints patterns on the grimy tiled floor and Changmin watches, eyes teary and unfocused with fatigue, as the girl at the till scans items at record speed. She's wearing bright blue fingerless gloves and they become a blue blur with how fast she's working. 

The man in front of them is holding a toddler, who peers at the items Yunho's laying out on the conveyor belt with frank curiosity. 

"Do you need a bag, sir?" The girl asks, hands finally resting. 

Shaking his head the man moves forward to pay and the toddler redirects its attention to the cigarette machine by the other till. 

"Do we need a –" Changmin makes to turn around but Yunho forcibly makes him stop, fingers digging through the padded material of his coat hard enough to bruise. 

"Don't," he says, voice controlled in a way that chases all lingering embers of sleep out of Changmin's mind, " _don't_ turn around. Whatever you do." 

Panic trapped in his chest Changmin says, "We should leave." 

The grip on his arm tightens. He's not sure if it's meant to reassure him or if Yunho's doing it for his own nerves. 

"What about the groceries?" 

Changmin laughs. It's a short brittle sound. "Fuck the" – the toddler's staring at them again – " _screw_ the groceries, hyung. We need to leave. Now." 

"Alright." The grip on his arm disappears. "Go."

He tries to turn around but Yunho pushes him and he stumbles forward. The girl at the till raises one heavily pencilled eyebrow. 

" _Go_ ,"Yunho hisses and Changmin goes, reluctant and chest aching with the urge to look back. 

The bell over the door clangs loudly as he shoulders it open but not loud enough to drown out the resounding  _crack_ that rings through the store. Changmin thinks of breaking bone and immediately wishes he hadn't. 

A pause that clings to the air and then the toddler starts wailing, high-pitched and deafening. 

Changmin runs out into the freezing morning and turns just in time to see Yunho land a well-aimed punch on the mouth of something that had, at one point probably been human. Face a bloody mess of torn skin and muscle and splintered bone. 

It reels back more out of surprise than the actual force of the punch and Yunho makes a run for it.

"Did you just  _punch_ a demon?" Changmin shouts, freezing air burning in his throat. 

Yunho skids across the frozen snow towards him, eyes bright. "Yes –  _run_!" 

"You punched a –" 

" _Run_!"

 

*

 

It's dark by the time they finally stop. 

Somewhere in the darkness, the ocean crashes onto the beaches below them and the headlights switch off with a faint buzz of static. 

They'd been winding their way through narrow village streets, scaring cats and leaving great SUV-sized tracks on the untouched snow. Changmin's lagging Sat Nav led them in circles for a while until finally dumping them at their destination. 

Yunho rings the old-fashioned doorbell while Changmin hangs back, nursing his paranoia and cramping wrists. 

A couple of icy minutes later and the gate to the courtyard swings open to reveal a tiny old lady wrapped in several brightly coloured shawls.

Dipping low into a bow Yunho says, "I'm sorry for arriving so late, but you might remember us? We called earlier today about the rooms? I'm Jung Yunho, we spoke on the phone and that" – he gestures at Changmin still skulking in the shadows – "is my – my friend Shim Changmin." 

She peers at him and after a tense second or so her face softens into something like a smile. "Took you long enough," she mutters and pushes the gate open further. "Are you also coming or were you planning on staying out here all night?" That last bit is directed at Changmin who startles and nods, hurrying inside with their suitcases while Yunho suppresses a laugh. 

"We got lost," Yunho explains as she ushers them further into the courtyard. 

"Hm – happens a lot. They keep building new roads. No map is reliable anymore." 

Yunho ducks into another apologetic bow and Changmin almost breaks his neck trying to follow suit. 

"Now" – she claps her hands and it echoes oddly in the enclosed space – "your rooms. How many nights are you planning on staying?" 

They exchange a look. 

"About a week at most," Changmin says, immediately regretting his decision to speak when she fixed him with a suspicious gaze.  

"Are you paying in advance?" 

"Whichever you prefer," Yunho jumps in graciously, shifting the focus off Changmin.

Eyes still narrowed she says, "In advance then. There's a heating bill that needs paying." 

 

They have a whole one-story house to themselves. The old lady lives in her own house across the courtyard. 

"My daughter," she explains, "used to live here with her two sons but she left not too long ago when her husband finished his enlistment."

Yunho nods attentively and Changmin wonders absentmindedly if this house has a rice cooker. 

"I'm telling you this, because – uhm, well. I arranged everything in here more with a small family in mind."

Changmin stops thinking about rice cookers. 

"So there's only one bed and child-sized bedrolls and you two obviously aren't… child-sized." 

They follow her into one of the only two bedrooms. It all looks – more intimate in the pale moonlight with an orange patch of light falling in through the open door.

"This is fine," Yunho says, a smile fixed firmly onto his face. 

But a nervous tick twitching near the hinge of his jaw is telling an entirely different story and Changmin wants to press his thumb against it, hold him and drag him down onto that bed and show him exactly what it was made for.

What they were made for. 

 

"Everything okay?" Changmin asks later that night, waltzing into the kitchen with a pile of fresh sheets in his arms. 

Yunho, who'd been staring at a brewing cup of tea for the least fifteen minutes, jumps about a foot into the air and knocks the cup over. 

" _Fine_ ," he splutters. "Fine."

The sound of steady dripping fills the cramped kitchen and they watch in silence as the pale green content of the cup slowly spreads across the countertop and down onto the floor. 

"You should maybe –" 

"Right. Yes." 

Grabbing the nearest dishcloth he can find Yunho bends down to wipe up the sad remnants of his tea. 

Changmin forcibly removes himself from the room before he does or says anything stupid.  

 

"You take the right side and I'll take the left," Yunho says when they're getting ready for bed. "And we'll maintain a 30-centimetre distance, okay?" 

Changmin stares at him, completely blank.  

"At least 30 centimetres," Yunho reiterates, tugging a little frantically at the hem of his hoodie. 

The warmth of the portable heater they had found in a linen closet makes the air seem heavier than usual.

"Right?" He turns to Changmin, still frozen in the doorway. 

"I – yeah, sure." 

 

*

 

Changmin wakes up to a watery winter sun and his arms full of a still peacefully slumbering Yunho. 

His self-control melts a little in the abundance of warmth. 

 

*

 

The morning rises in a freezing haze of freshly fallen snow and salty, coastal mist. It presses against the windows and creeps through the cracks under the front door and Changmin stomps through the apartment in three pairs of socks and two sweatshirts.

Yunho's still asleep, curled up and blissfully unaware of the biting cold thanks to the heater Changmin left in the bedroom. 

He makes breakfast and then tries to un-make it because he has nothing better to do. 

By the time he's made and un-made breakfast three times Yunho shuffles through the living room and into the bathroom, pink and puffy-eyed with sleep. He's pulled Changmin's green cashmere pullover over his sleep shirt and the possessive, cat-like thing under Changmin's heart that had been frozen for the last couple of days wakes with a start and a growl that almost sends him careening into the fridge. 

 

Around 12 o'clock the old lady comes knocking on their door to ask if they could help with shovelling the snow out of the driveway. 

Changmin glances at Yunho, who's huddled in the living room wrapped in a quilt with a cup of hot chocolate, having left most of his voice and energy out on the road somewhere and resigns himself to his fate. 

"I'll help," he says. "I won't be a minute." 

The suspicious look, which hasn't left her face since last night, softens ever so slightly and she nods. 

"Stay put or I'll kill you," Changmin says as he marches past Yunho in search for his coat and gloves. 

 

Snow shovelling turns out to be hard work and in the clear light of the morning the courtyard looks a lot bigger than it had last night. A barren cherry tree sits at its centre, naked branches stretching out to the sky.  

There's also a cat. A little black one with white socks and a white belly. 

Changmin studiously tries to work around her only to watch in despair when she tracks footprints through his work. 

Now and again he disappears back inside to check up on Yunho who's mostly mute, bored, and tired. 

"You don't have a fever, do you?" Changmin asks, awkwardly hovering over Yunho who's slumped next to the portable heater. 

He's at least ninety percent sure he would explode if he touched Yunho now. His self-control is hanging by a thread that makes that of a spider's web look as reliable as rope. It's pathetic and tiring, clinging on like this. 

And yet he clings. 

"No," Yunho croaks, defiant. 

Against all better judgement, Changmin leans forward and presses a hand against Yunho's forehead. 

He's warm, not dangerously so but Changmin's hand still comes away burning like he's touched a hotplate. It seeps through his skin and sits in his bones, worse than a fever. 

 

"Do you take care good care of him?" 

Changmin drops his shovel and it lands on the now exposed cobblestones with a noisy crash. 

The old lady is hovering behind him, half of her face hidden behind a thick woolly scarf. 

Ducking out of her narrowed gaze Changmin picks up his shovel and says, "Sorry?" 

"Do you take good care of him?" 

" _Take care of him_ ," he echoes weakly. 

His eyes flicker briefly between the closed front door, edged with frost and the old lady's piercing gaze. 

If anyone takes care of anyone it would be Yunho, who does it on purpose. Consciously. Changmin's way of taking care of someone, especially if that someone is Yunho, is more clumsy and accidental. 

When they were younger it was Changmin who tidied their shared apartment and made Yunho go out on morning runs. Yunho, on the other hand, kept him fed and actively put himself between Changmin and his growing hermit-like tendencies. 

Two years in the army had not really managed to change that. 

Yunho still has a habit of tracking mud from field trips into Changmin's immaculate apartment and Changmin still takes him grocery shopping at high-end supermarkets, making sure to fill his fridge with food that'll actually keep him alive.  

They take care of each other. In the in-between hours when Changmin isn't making his name known as a ruthless businessman and Yunho isn't teaching kids about the laws of gravity and the 837 wonders of the world. 

Changmin always likes to point out how there are only seven wonders of the world but every time he does Yunho only grins, saying that there are lots and lots of wonders in the world. 

The grin is the dumbest, most blithe and carefree thing. 

"Everything is a wonder," he says, that stupid grin tugging at his mouth, "if you look at it with enough love." 

It's stupid. So stupid. And Changmin would sit there and look at him until he's the only wonder in the world. 

"I try," he replies honestly. 

 

*

 

There's fresh snow on the second day and Changmin spends his morning digging rubbish bins out of a snow drift and chasing the cat back into Yunho's bored and waiting arms. 

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before," the old lady says, having materialised behind him with a steaming cup of instant coffee. 

Changmin blinks and takes the cup he's being offered. "Me?" 

She hums. "Yes. You have a very unique face. I would remember seeing you." 

The coffee is scaldingly hot, burning a path down his numb throat. 

"Thank you?" 

More vague humming and then, "Where are you from?" 

"Seoul," Changmin replies because it's the truth. 

Her eyes narrow. "I still feel like I've seen you before. Have you been on TV?" 

A pause as Changmin thinks about it. 

"I don't think so, no." 

Obviously unconvinced the old lady turns and trudges back to her house. "It'll come to me later," she throws over her shoulder and Changmin can't help but hope it doesn't. 

 

*

 

Fog is pressing against the windows when Yunho resurfaces, having successfully slept off his cold. 

"I'm gonna have a shower," he says. 

Changmin barely glances up from where he's been reading the same paragraph of a book that's almost as old and tattered as the house itself. It's called  _The Five People You Meet In Heaven_ , which is ironic since Changmin's going to hell. 

"Did you hear?" 

Idly turning a page he says, "I heard and I'm proud of you, hyung."

A slipper hits him squarely in the face and Yunho disappears into the bathroom before Changmin can retaliate.  

 

Whatever idleness had overtaken him that afternoon gets washed away, literally and figuratively, when Yunho comes out of the bathroom half an hour later flushed and looking healthier than he has this entire trip. He brings with him a small tidal wave of water and the scent of artificial strawberries. 

Changmin sits on the floor, back rigid and blood running hot for two completely different reasons. 

"Did you – did you  _flood_ the bathroom?" 

Yunho freezes like a teenager who got caught sneaking out and turns, hesitating. The towel clinging to his hips slips a little and Changmin very seriously considers walking out into the fog and staying there until his frozen body can be dragged off to the depths of hell. 

"I didn't  _try_ to flood it. It just sort of – happened." 

He stares at a spot just to the left of Yunho's head and says, "You didn't actively try to flood the bathroom?" 

"…no?" 

"How the –  _how_ do you  _accidentally_ flood a bathroom." 

A flush that has nothing to do with hot water crawls up the back of Yunho's neck and into his cheeks and  _wow_ Changmin wants to die. 

"I was, uh. Distracted and forgot to – forgot to turn the water off?" 

Changmin closes his eyes against the images that threaten to flood his mind. 

"Right," he says and waits for Yunho to have reached the safety of the bedroom before adding, "I'm not cleaning it up." 

Another slipper comes hurling out of the open doorway and something loosens in Changmin's chest. 

 

Sleep is an impossibility and Changmin lies there, squished against the wall in an effort to put as much space as possible between himself and Yunho who's curled up with his back to him. 

After a couple of painful minutes where Changmin desperately tries to focus on his breathing and the quiet hum of the radiator and _not_ on the warm, sleeping body only a few inches away from him, his resolve cracks and he practically runs for the bathroom.

He stands under the spray and leans his forehead against the sky blue tiles, letting the icy water wash the shame and longing out of him. 

 

*

 

It's the third day and the fourth night of their first week of relative peace. 

Snow is drifting through the night and a hush that not even the steady crash and roar of the ocean can compete with lies over the village. 

They're both lying on the living room floor, verging on the tipsier side of drunk. 

Changmin had to cut Yunho off about an hour ago because, although he's 6ft tall, he has the tolerance of someone just under 5'5. 

So now he's lying next Changmin, flushed and lax, mouth parted ever so slightly as he stares unseeingly at the dark ceiling above them. The faint yellow light creeping in through the half-open kitchen door paints everything in an artificial summer twilight. 

Changmin stares, hyperaware of the heat crawling just underneath his skin. 

"Sorry about this," he says into the silence, startling Yunho out of whatever Soju-haze he'd let himself sink into. 

"About this?" 

"About" – Changmin waves a hand at the ceiling – "about this. All of this." 

Yunho continues to stare up at the ceiling, gaze unfocused and far away.

"It's okay."

"It's not though. I barge into your life and just – ruin everything for you." 

A pause. 

Then, slowly Yunho turns onto his side to look at Changmin properly. His limbs are uncoordinated but still retain a stubborn kind of grace that he seems reluctant to give up even when drunk. 

"You haven't," he starts, carefully picking his way through the words, "ruined anything. Anything at all." 

Changmin can definitely think of a few things he could ruin. Now or in the future. 

"I haven't?" 

"You haven't," Yunho confirms. 

"But – I dragged you out here. I dragged you out here in the middle of winter with no plan, no real idea of what we're gonna do. Fuck, I mean – we can't stay on the run forever. You might  _die_ , hyung.  _Die_. And you've – what? Forgiven me? Already? For potentially killing you because I'm selfish and–" 

Yunho's gaze is focused now, brow furrowed and lips parted as if on the verge of speech.

An open invitation for Changmin to make more mistakes. 

" _If_ I had to forgive you," Yunho finally says, voice surprisingly steady, "then I would've done it ages ago." 

Changmin stares at him, the last remnants of his self-control slipping through his fingers like sand. 

"Then forgive me for this too," he says quietly and closes the distance between them. 

 

*

 

The walk down to the village supermarket is a quiet one, bordering on awkward. 

Changmin marches slightly ahead, hunched against the blinding sun and the glittering brilliance of the freshly fallen snow. None of it, not the fresh salty sea breeze nor the icy wetness creeping through his shoes, does anything to help with the headache throbbing in his temples. 

A few steps behind him is Yunho, limping slightly and keeping his head down, either out of some lingering sense of embarrassment or because he has a similar situation going on in his own head.  

"You alright?" Changmin's voice sounds especially loud with the knowledge that these are the first words exchanged between them since last night.  

Nodding mutely Yunho speeds up a little. 

Changmin catches him wincing slightly and tries and fails to suppress the bubble of nonsensical pride that blooms under his ribs in response. He only realises he's staring when Yunho hurries past him, cheeks and ears reddening for reasons other than the cold. 

A loud  _crack_ behind them wrenches Changmin away from the pleasantly blurry memories of the night before and dumps him firmly in the horrors of reality. 

They both turn, startled and Changmin has enough time to catch a glimpse of glowing red eyes and to feel Yunho reaching out to grab him before everything goes black. 

 

* 

 

Hell does not look like what Changmin imagined it would look like.

He might not have been entirely sure what he imagined hell would look like but it definitely wasn't this. 

It's quieter too, quieter than hell should be, really.

No eternal screams of pain and sorrow, no fire or torture. Not much of  _anything_ to be quite honest. Just some dingey cavern with dirt walls and a dirt floor.

A gaping black tunnel entrance that snakes away to god-knows-where is the only really interesting thing there. 

Changmin sits up and stares at it, dazed. 

It's then that he realises that he's alone.

Horrifyingly alone. 

Panic roars to life inside him and he scrambles to his feet, only vaguely aware of the bloody seal cut into the palm of his left hand. The moment he notices it, however, all noise and feeling gets drowned out by pain, searing white-hot pain that crawls up his arm and into his heart where it curls up in a knot, threatening to suffocate him. 

Vision flickering he stumbles forward towards the tunnel. His coat is gone, as well as his gloves and the hair prickling on his arms and on the back of his neck is the only warning he gets before being violently thrown back, landing on the rocky ground with a crunching  _thud_. 

The pain from the fall only lasts for a second or two before a fresh wave of pain from the mark on his hand knocks him back against the wall. 

Through the flickering haze of pain partially obscuring his vision Changmin manages to catch sight of something vaguely humanoid forming out of the stone and darkness of the cavern. It twists and bends itself into shape until he can recognize the mangled features of the small Italian man who'd given him a glass of water all those months ago. 

He's not so small anymore, limbs stretched into obscene spidery proportions forever twisting and reforming as he slithers towards Changmin, who can do nothing but watch him approach, paralyzed with fear and pain. 

" _You_ ," the demon says and Changmin has the rather wild thought that his voice sounds a bit like the one of a maths teacher he had throughout high school, " _are persistent_."

A hand, less human than anything else about him, reaches out and pries Changmin's clenched left hand open. 

" _Persistent and more trouble_ " – more pain floods his senses – " _than you're worth_." 

The creature grins, showing off bloody gums and jagged half-formed teeth. " _But interesting too_.  _Yes_ ," it hums thoughtfully, " _interesting is always nice. A nice change of pace. I don't get that often, you know, after so many years. People trying to outrun me is almost unheard of but then there's you_. _You and your_   _little friend_." 

A second, different kind of pain joins the other and a scream gets lost somewhere in Changmin's throat. 

" _Interesting things are so rare these days_ ," the creature sighs, slouching back and the darkness he's made of cracks and twists to accommodate the change. " _It was annoying, sure. But after a while… it turned out more fun than I thought possible! Someone choosing to run? From me? I was almost flattered_." 

Changmin's uninjured hand finds purchase on a sharp little rock. "What do you  _want_ ," he croaks.

" _Well, your soul obviously_." 

Gritting his teeth he manages to push himself upright, just a little. "Then get on with it." 

" _Hm, well, you see – I've been thinking_." The darkness twists aggressively and its face becomes less human, mouth stretching impossibly wide. " _I mean – it's been so much fun these last couple of weeks. Watching you and your… companion run and dance around each other like that. Don't think I've had this much fun since the Thirty Years' War_." 

" _And I think_ ," the demon continues, apparently oblivious to Changmin's plan, " _that I might've found something just a little more interesting than your soul_." 

Changmin's grip on the rock tightens. 

" _Exciting isn't it?_ " Laughing a horrible, high-pitched girly laugh the creature leers forward, backing Changmin so far against the wall until he has nowhere else to look but up into the mismatched, bloodshot eyes of his captor. 

"Something – something _more_ interesting than my soul?" Changmin repeats, voice scraping against his vocal cords. 

Somewhere beneath the pain and fear and panic he can't help but feel a bit offended. Just a bit. The appropriate amount for when a demon indirectly says that your soul isn't that interesting. 

" _Your companion_ –" the demon starts and Changmin rears up in anger, the rock in his right fist making contact with the demon's skull with a disgusting  _crack_ that rings through the cavern like a gunshot. 

The demon reels back, more out of surprise than anything else and Changmin's attempt at getting up is foiled by an invisible force that shoves him back against the wall. The muscles in his back singing in pain he tries again, but this time it's the mark that forces him back onto the floor. 

" _He's not dead if that's why you're so angry_ ," the demon says, a little testily. 

"What do you–" 

" _I have_ _souls_ ," the demon interrupts, tone verging on petulant. " _Plenty. More than enough, if I'm quite honest. And they're all just. So. Boring. Boring, boring, boring_." 

Changmin stares up at the now pacing demon, completely at a loss of what to say or do. 

" _But_ ," and suddenly its right back in his face, eyes red and hungry, " _you have something a lot more interesting than a soul. More interesting than a thousand souls. There is something in your heart, boy._ " 

The red in the demon's eyes flares briefly, like the sun hitting the horizon and it's all the warning Changmin gets before it presses a gnarled, claw-like finger to his chest and pushes as if to break open his ribcage and tear out his heart. 

Pain is replaced by something a lot worse. 

Images start to crowd in Changmin's mind, tripping over each other, merging and separating in a mad delirious mess. 

Yunho, when Changmin graduated high school, throwing an arm over his shoulders with a jubilant shout of _you're finally free._ Yunho, head dropping onto Changmin's shoulder during a bus ride home, expression tired and content. Yunho, 22 and drunk, singing a Britney Spears song while jumping on Changmin's childhood bed. Pre-army Yunho whispering apologies and promises into the juncture of Changmin's neck. Yunho with his hair shaved short beaming from where he's slumped in a booth of a coffee shop. Yunho hair outgrown its military cut happily sitting amongst a swarm of babbling kindergartners. Yunho, Yunho, Yunho, Yunho–

Changmin lurches away with a pained shout. 

" _My, my, my – quite a predicament we've got ourselves here. Now. Does he love you back_?" Its face twists into a mocking pout and when he doesn't reply. " _Does he?_ "

White hot pain shoots up Changmin's spine and he curls in on himself, tasting copper at the back of his teeth. 

" _Let me_ " – another burst of pain – " _tell you about a fate crueller than being stuck here. Unrequited love… loving that which cannot love you back. It's a special kind of hell don't you think_?" 

The pain ebbs just a little and Changmin stays curled on the dirt floor, panting. 

" _He doesn't know, does he_?  _I know a secret when I see one, and oh, what a secret it is_.  _I wonder_ " – a hand on the back of his shirt pulls him upright – " _I wonder_." 

"Wonder  _what_?" Changmin snaps with as much dignity as he can muster. 

The demon ignores him and claps its hands. 

People, around six or seven of them, dressed in long black and red cloaks materialise with noises like fireworks. They bring with them the stench of sulfur and old blood, so pungent it's almost visible as a red, dusty haze on the air. 

There's a brief pause and then they swarm him, dragging him across the rough ground to the centre of the cavern. Under their hoods, Changmin can see pale, sightless eyes watching, uncaring as he tries to get to his feet. 

The demon drifts, barely corporeal through their ranks to join Changmin in the centre of the circle they've now formed. 

" _I know your heart_ ," it says. " _He doesn't know and you don't ever plan on telling him, right_?  _Suffer through the pain of unrequited love just to preserve what you already have. Hm, would be a shame, wouldn't it? If he knew._ "

Dread wraps around Changmin's chest like an iron band, squeezing and pressing until he can hardly breathe. 

" _Begin the ritual_ ," the demon orders and then, leering at Changmin, " _Let's find your heartmate, shall we_?" 

The chanting starts and the invisible band around his chest contracts so forcefully that Changmin can actually  _feel_ his ribs splintering. He bares it for a minute or so, the chanting growing louder as the pain builds in a steady crescendo before succumbing to the darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. 

 

He wakes up to silence.

It's the deafening, suffocating kind that makes him startle to full consciousness, seal on his left hand throbbing feebly as he takes in his surroundings. 

The cloaked figures line the wall, silent and watchful. Their pale eyes seem to glow dimly from underneath the shadows of their hoods and it takes almost physical effort on Changmin's part to make himself look away. 

His heart, which had been thumping noisily against his ribcage as if to reassure him that he was alive, stops when his gaze finds the weakly stirring body next to him. 

Yunho is crumpled on his side, blood smeared on his cheek and throat in a way that looks almost purposeful. Crawling over to him, arms shaking with an ache that drives into his bones Changmin tries to wake him. 

"Hyung.  _Hyung_ , wake up, c'mon."

He stirs again and Changmin presses his thumb on the fluttering pulse in his throat. "Yunho," he says, dropping the honorific. They're in hell and a demon is about to ruin their friendship so it's not like honorifics matter now. "Wake up." 

And he does, with a choked off gasp as if he's emerging from being underwater. Changmin pulls his hands away like he's been burned. 

"Wha–" Yunho starts, blinking around at the dim cave and figures lining the walls. "Changmin?" 

Words get stuck in his throat and he shakes his head, unable to do more than whisper soundlessly, "I'm sorry." 

" _Ah-ha!_ " A loud crack rips through the air and Changmin scrambles even further back, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. As if that might minimise the damage heading their way. 

" _You're the friend. What a pleasure to finally meet you_." The demon fades out of the darkness, red eyes alight with a hunger that makes Changmin's stomach turn over. " _I've heard – or should I say, seen – so much about you._ " 

Yunho stares up at the twisted, barely human face above him with a dazed, but undoubtedly defiant look on his face.

"What's going on?" 

" _I know something you don't_ ," its voice pitches upwards in a childish taunt, " _something your friend told me in confidence_."

Changmin can feel Yunho's searching gaze on him but stays put, sitting on his heels with his head bowed in resignation.

But the glowing red eyes find him next and the shifting mass of darkness that is the demon grabs his chin and forces him to look up. To look at Yunho's confused, blood-smeared face. " _Your heartmate,_ " the demon hisses, " _the one who can never love you_." 

Yunho's shocked, " _What_?" sounds like its coming from very far away. 

" _He's in love with you_!" The demon crows, scraping a claw-like fingernail against the hinge of Changmin's jaw, drawing blood. " _He's been in love with you for 15 years and he will be for the rest of his sorry little life_." 

Pain, that has nothing to do with the aching seal burned into his hand or the demon still coiling around him, floods his lungs as Yunho pushes himself away. Eyes wide he gapes at Changmin, who stares back, silent. 

There's no point in denying the undeniable.

The demon, on the other hand, twists and spins around them dizzy with his apparent success. 

" _A fate worse than death_ ," it sing-songs before settling in front of Changmin. " _How about we strike a different deal? You and your predicament_ " – he gives Yunho a nasty smile – " _has provided me with more entertainment than I've had in years, so – how about instead of taking your soul, I let you two go instead._ " 

A fate worse than death.

Yunho's still staring at him. 

" _I suppose you've heard of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice_?" 

As if on cue the ceiling above them shakes and trembles, bits of rock and gravel come raining down, covering the only two humans present in a fine layer of red dust. The dark tunnel which had been dark and lifeless until now, echoes suddenly with a crack like lightning hitting rock and a narrow beam of golden light falls into their midst. 

Around them the cloaked figures rise into the air as one, crowding closer until Changmin and Yunho have no other choice but to stick together. 

The blood on Yunho's cheeks and throat is dark and dry and Changmin wants to wash him clean and disappear from his life. 

" _You can leave and I'll never bother you again_ ," the demon says, recapturing their attention, " _but you will walk away from here without looking back. If you_ " – it directs this at Changmin – " _look back I will keep your heartmate here for eternity. Capito?_ _Either way, you'll make your own hell with a heart like that. I've done my part._ "

Hands reach out from under the cloaks, pale and dead-looking in the faint light from the tunnel. They pull them both upright and one especially spidery on presses between Changmin's shoulder blades and pushes him forward. 

Stumbling forward he glances at Yunho who meets his gaze for a second before looking away, ashen under the blood on his face. 

"We should run," Changmin says in an undertone, peering up into the dark passageway and at the distant speck of golden light signifying the surface. 

Some of the figures still loom close behind Yunho, fingers digging into of his pullover and with a jolt, Changmin recognises his green cashmere pullover, almost unrecognisable under a layer of red dust and dried blood. 

Instinctively he reaches out to pry their hands off and with a soft hissing noise, they retreat back into the shadows. 

Yunho still won't look him in the eye. 

"Ready?" 

A silent nod. 

Changmin knows the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. How Orpheus had turned at the last second to see if his wife was following only to see her get whisked back into the depths of the underworld forever. But he's good at being patient, better than Orpheus. 

He's been patient for 15 years and had been fully prepared to be patient for another 15. 

"Go" – Yunho's voice startles him out of his zigzagging train of thought – "I'll be right behind you." 

 

The square of light at the end of the tunnel grows, but only slowly. 

All Changmin can hear is the sound of his own laboured breathing and footfalls, he can't hear Yunho behind him and with every step he takes fear and panic grow.

He blindly stretches out a hand behind him and lets out a string of colourful curses when he feels Yunho's hand brush his. 

 

They tumble out onto a snowy field, Changmin first and then Yunho who trips, legs giving out and collapses half on top of Changmin. 

A delirious, aching laugh scrapes its way past his vocal cords as they lie there in the snow. 

"We're alive," Yunho laughs, breathless and presses an uncoordinated kiss against Changmin's mouth. 

Changmin lies there, frozen, damp, tired and utterly confused. Then, with a start, he realises what's happening and pushes Yunho of off him, the cuts on his left hand stinging as he scrambles away. 

"Wh–" 

"You're in love with me," Yunho says. Rejection hasn't dimmed the spark in his eyes. 

Changmin is gapes at him, lips tingling. 

There's about a foot of glittering snow between them, sparkling in the setting sun which had been at high noon when they disappeared. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Wh–why didn't I say anything –  _what_?" 

Eyes still sparkling Yunho says, "I didn't know." 

"Didn't know," Changmin echoes, completely lost. 

"You love me and I didn't  _know_." 

A pause as the sky turns a stunning shade of indigo, blue and endless. 

"I love you," Changmin starts, "but you – you don't love me. That's the whole reason why we're alive." He feels a bit like a teacher explaining the workings of the universe to a toddler. 

Yunho is grinning. " _No_ , you love me and I love you too. Have loved, will love – all that stuff." 

There are too many  _loves_ in that sentence and Changmin blinks up at the sky for help. 

"But he – the demon  _said_ –" 

Yunho is full on beaming now, brighter and more blinding than the untouched snow around them. "It looked inside your heart. Not mine. And anyway," he comes a little closer, iridescent in the light of the setting sun, "what does a demon know about love?" 

Changmin's still at least 12 steps behind him. "But– I don't–" he stutters.

"Listen. I knew I loved you since the day you told me dance classes were stupid and then started going to them with me."

The foot of snow between them has shrunk down to only a few inches. 

"But why didn't you  _say_ anything?" 

"Why didn't you?" 

Remnants of adrenaline make Changmin's hand shake as he reaches out, pressing a thumb against the hinge of Yunho's jaw where an anxious nerve is twitching. Then he drags him forward into a kiss, hard and desperate enough to bruise. 

 

*

 

"And we are relieved to inform you that the two people that went missing four weeks ago from the street of Seoul – young COO of Shim Corporations, Shim Changmin and his long-time friend Jung Yunho, a school teacher – have, according to an anonymous insider, returned safely. The two went missing four weeks ago on a Saturday after the COO had a rather peculiar run-in with a taxi driver, who was later taken in for questioning. The search, especially for Jung, who it seems is a very popular teacher at his school created a media storm that has rode a tidal wave of conspiracy theories for the last four weeks." 

Changmin stares blankly at the pixelated face of the news anchor as she turns a page on her script. 

"According to the anonymous insider, the pair returned this Friday, after having completely disappeared off the grid for four weeks. Not replying to any phonecalls, texts or emails. The most prominent speculation for the sudden disappearance is that they eloped to Europe to get married, a speculation supported and partially confirmed by the anonymous insider. It's brought in a tidal wave of support from all across the country and the world. Re-awakening the debate about gay rights in Korea–" 

There's a loud crash outside the apartment and Changmin sinks into the couch, trying to become one with the expensive black leather. 

Another loud crash and the sound of a door being kicked open.

"We're  _married_?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for you kaara, thank you for badgering me into a semi-acceptable updating schedule i owe you my life 
> 
>  
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/saddermachine)


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